


This Story Needs More Power Ballads

by pyrebi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Longsuffering Commentary, M/M, Not So Secret Dating, Unintentional Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrebi/pseuds/pyrebi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean has an angelic boyfriend and Sam is a better brother than anyone gives him credit for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Story Needs More Power Ballads

**Author's Note:**

> Written during the middle of season five.

Sam’s life sucks. No really. No, _really_. And it’s because of Dean and Castiel. Okay, there’s this crap about the apocalypse and Lucifer wanting to rent-to-own his body, which big-picture sucks because Sam? He’s really never wanted to hurt anybody or be evil or whatever it is everybody keeps expecting. Like, they look at him like he’s this ticking time bomb of carnage with an unreadable timer—is it four days or twelve seconds? Who knows! Guess we’ll find out when he gets all smitey on us!

No. Wrong.

Sam, understand, has only _ever_ wanted things to be good and stable and happy and normal. He’s not one for long, drawn-out dramas. He likes to get in, get things done, and let the ripples fade on out to smooth waters again. And believe him (please, _please_ believe him) when he tells you that everything he’s done—the fighting and the demon blood, the running away and the demon chick—it’s because he thought it would help. Maybe he hasn’t always thought of _who_ it would help other than himself (he had dreams, man, way back when, but they’re pretty dead now and he feels a little empty because of it), but it was never meaningless and he never intended to be cruel. And yeah, he’s not always made the best decisions and sometimes he should really just listen to the people who love him, but you’ve gotta understand that he’s never wanted to hurt anybody or anything, with maybe an exception for the Demon after it murdered Jess—

Wait. No, sorry. This is becoming a philosophical discussion of Sam’s moral compass, and he didn’t mean to turn the conversation that way. That’s a different rant for a different day. What he really wants to do now is bitch about Dean and Castiel. So.

Dean and Castiel. Dean and Cas. Castiel’s kind of a dick, but then again so’s Dean, so maybe they deserve each other. Sam, though? He doesn’t. He does _not_ deserve this. Because if there was anybody to feed Dean’s particular brand of self-loathing and destiny-angst, it’s Castiel. From the beginning, when he was all being a mighty Angel of the Lord and telling Dean to stfu and adhere to his _destiny_ , Dean’s loved him. Dean would deny until his last (ha ha, “last” his _ass_ —Sam’s started to suspect Dean might actually live forever, since death seems to slide off him like water) breath, but it’s true. Maybe not, like, lock-Sam-out-of-his-own-motel-room-to-have-blasphemous-sex-all-over-his-bedspread love yet, but Sam’s known Dean his whole life and there’s nothing Dean appreciates more than a concrete thing to rage against. It’s easier for him, to resent an angel than to resent some ambiguous maybe-there-maybe-not heaven. So in a very rough period in Dean’s life, Castiel was there for him to hate/not hate/resign himself to. Sam can be thankful for that, since he was kind of...working through some issues of his own at the time.

But for over a year now they’ve been eyefucking pretty good, like enough that _Bobby_ noticed, and after Castiel threw in his lot with them, it’d only gotten worse. It was becoming abundantly clear that they were depending on each other not to fail. Sam’s own reactions to this whole sequence of events kind of depended on what he was doing at the time, so. At first he was pretty pro-angel, and then angels turned out to be dicks, then angels turned out to want to kill him. _Then_ he’d started the apocalypse. Then Castiel had started to...not want to kill him? He guessed? Which seemed like kind of an odd reaction, that Castiel liked him better _after_ he’d unleashed the devil than before. But whatever—gift horses, mouths, et cetera. He’s sure it’s just bleedover from Castiel being totally in angry-angel-love with Dean.

So Sam’s not exactly sure when his brother and Castiel went from pseudo-enemies to allies to friends to whatever the hell they are now. It all seems very needy, really. He supposes he’s the last person who gets to judge for that, though, what with fun blemishes like Ruby on his track record.

Anyway.

\--

 _An excerpted scene from “The Life of Sam Winchester:”  
_  
Another day, another person telling Dean he’s worthless except as a Michael-suit. Which frankly is starting to get really _boring_ for Sam, but it’s like Dean’s got this bottomless well of insecurity and no matter how many buckets of woe you draw out there’s always more where that came from. Sam gets a rag out from his pocket to wipe the knife with (little gory bits of…is that intestine? oh, _ew_ ) and he hears Castiel’s very grave and very deep voice saying, “You are not worthless, Dean.”

Which is nice, Sam guesses, and yeah, he secretly wants to hear more along those lines directed at himself, but really? It’s like living in one of those teen dramas Jess vehemently denied enjoying. (She used to flail at him with the remote when he dared mock the overacting, though.) He’d bet you ten-to-one that when he turns around, Dean will be looking off into the middle distance tragically and Castiel will be standing stoically four feet behind him, looking like he wants to say something else but the words won’t come.

Sam would’ve lost that bet, though.

When he turns around, Dean’s got his hands all in Castiel’s hair and Castiel’s got his fisted in Dean’s overshirt and it pretty much looks like they’re trying to eat each other mouth-first. There might even be some grinding going on, but Sam’s not looking that closely.

“What—” Sam starts, then nixes whatever he’d been about to say. He's kind of been expecting this at some point, he guesses, so it's not really that big of a shock. So instead he goes with, “ _Honestly_ , guys? Here, now? C’mon, I don’t want to be seeing this!”

Dean’s content to just flip him off, but Castiel unleeches himself from Dean’s face and levels an unflinching stare at Sam. “Then I suggest you go elsewhere.”

Sam ends up burning the bodies all by himself, and Dean ends up with a couple of good hickies and this half-creeped, half-blissed look on his face.

It all goes downhill from there. (For Sam, of course.)

\--

For the next portion of his life, Sam was never quite sure what was going on with his brother and Castiel. Sometimes they wouldn’t even look at each other, and sometimes they’d just stand there breathing each other’s air and generally making everyone else in the vicinity uncomfortable. It eventually got to the point where Sam was just getting tired of dealing with the drama. He wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, though, like indirect with a simple “ _so how’s Cas doing?_ ” or just to the point like “ _are you guys fucking yet?_ ”

Finally he just said “what’s going on with you and Castiel?” one night. Dean had stopped humming D’yer Mak’er and peered at him suspiciously over the top of the laptop.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he had said, and it took all of Sam’s willpower not to throw a shoe at his brother’s head. In fact, the only thing that’d really stopped him was the laptop and the potential for damaging it. Dean’d been pretty much exhibiting every _single_ tell he had for “ _I’m keeping things from you, Sammy!_ ”, which was utter bull, because he’d thought they were trying for honesty at this point.

“Well, look,” Sam said, feeling exasperated by this whole wishy-washy crap. “Do what makes you happy. It’s all I want for you.”

Dean had rolled his eyes so hard that he’d probably strained something. “Well _thanks_ , Francine. Hey, I hear _The Notebook_ is on channel twelve right now if you wanna have a good cry with me. Really cement the bonding.”

“You’re a dick,” Sam had replied.

(Later, whenever Sam would go “oh my god, I am right here, _please_ do not do that while I’m in the room,” Dean would get all wide-eyed and say “but _Sammy_ , it makes me _happy!_ ” Which, _really_ , he should’ve seen coming.)

\--

 _An excerpted scene from “The Life of Sam Winchester:”_

When Sam was nineteen, his life took a sharp turn south. His old roommate broke his leg in a skiing accident over winter break, so he got moved out to a medical room and a new guy moved in to his dorm. Sam had liked Drew, who mostly just played Halo and did all of his drinking off-campus. Will was an _asshole_. Sam didn’t have many friends his first year because he was still pretty fucking weird and not very awesome at hiding it yet, so he ended up sleeping out in the hallway a lot because if he dared be out of the room past ten he’d come back to a sock on the doorknob and some ridiculously loud moans from within. Yeah, Will was _that guy_. Once or twice Sam’s RA—who was a video production major and thus _never home_ —actually saw him curled up in the corner and took pity on him, so that Sam spent a couple of nights on his RA’s floor in a sleeping bag the guy kept for “this sort of problem.” Which was actually pretty nice of him, in retrospect, and probably not in his job description.

This set of experiences comes rushing back with a vengeance the first time he goes out for food and comes back to a blue tie wrapped around the doorknob to the motel room and a hastily-scrawled note reading _SORRY DUDE_ taped above it. It takes him a couple of minutes to school his face back to something that doesn’t make him look like he’s a victim from _The Ring_. Then he remembers he’s a bona fide adult now, with his own (fake) credit card and everything, so he goes and buys himself a new room far far away from the original one and eats his salad and watches the last forty minutes of _Return of the King_ for like the millionth time before passing out.

He of course makes ridiculous moaning sounds randomly throughout the next day and ends up with a bruise right under his warding tattoo, because apparently that’s the extent of Dean’s reach when he’s concentrating on driving.

\--

This is _nothing_ , of course, compared to the time that Sam actually walked in on them. Granted, it wasn’t like they were actually _doing it_ yet, but they were tumbled over on one of the beds and Dean was down to his jeans and one sock, and he had his hand down Castiel’s unbuttoned slacks, and the angel had his head thrown back and everything was just kind of frozen in this tableau of awkward. Sam had just stood there for a second, then his brain reengaged and he kind of shouted “OH MY GOD” before backpeddling out of the room faster than he’d ever done anything in his life. He’d spent the next little while driving around Shitsville, Kentucky before he finally got bored and bought himself a ticket to see _Avatar_. Halfway through the scene where the blue people were riding around on pterodactyls, he’d gotten a text from Dean.

 _sry_ , it had said. _didnt no u wer comin back yet. bring food mabe?_

 _No._ he’d responded. _There is a Wendy’s across the street. And if the room smells like angel spunk when I get back, I expect you to buy me a new one._

He then put his 3D glasses back on and turned off his phone.

\--

 _An excerpted scene from “The Life of Sam Winchester:”  
_  
It’s like three in the morning and he should really be unconscious, but it’s hot as balls in this room and the air conditioner is making this horrifying grinding noise instead of actually _working_ , so he’s just pretending to sleep and hoping that if he keeps up the act long enough he’ll be able to trick his mind into actually going offline. At some point shortly after 3:07, there’s a rush of air in the room and Castiel is standing beside Dean’s bed.

“ _Dean,_ ” he says in something that is admittedly a little lower in volume than his normal speaking tone but still couldn’t really be considered a “trying not to wake up the other occupant of the room” voice.

“Whuh?” Dean responds, sounding like he’s still got a face full of pillow.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, and this time it’s a lot softer, a lot more vulnerable-sounding.

 _Oh hell no_ , Sam tells himself. _Go to sleep. Go to sleep and do not be awake for this._

He’s never really been that good at following advice.

He hears Dean sit up, suddenly a lot more alert. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

The air conditioner takes this opportunity to grind obnoxiously, but Sam’s pretty sure he knows what’s wrong—it’s the same thing that’s always wrong. They’re both broken eight ways to Sunday and Castiel kind of gave up on God and transferred all of that devotion to Dean, who may or may not let him down at any given moment. And from what Dean half-says and half-doesn’t, sometimes Castiel—who has always been a part of something _bigger_ , who has always had ranks of thousands all around him—well, sometimes he gets lonely. Which on one level Sam thinks is _ridiculous_ , because it’s ridiculous to think of bristling, indignant, business-like Castiel having to come to Dean of all people—for what, comfort? solace? cuddle-time?—but on another it’s just more proof that his brother is having the most epic gay romance ever, and that’s pretty hilarious.

“Cas. Hey, hey _Cas_. It’s fine, you know that,” Dean says, voice low. “C’mere.” The bedsprings creak wearily as he scoots aside, and dammit, could he please fall asleep now?

The A/C roars again, a noise that sounds way too loud to be made in that tiny box. When it stops, it’s quiet in the vicinity of Dean’s bed. Well. That could’ve been a lot worse.

A hiss deflates his hopes, followed by Dean saying, “Sam’ll wake up...” and he almost _almost_ decides to give himself away when Castiel _growls_ something that sounds suspiciously like “Then I’ll have to make sure you’re quiet,” and Sam can’t even handle this, you hear? He starts doing multiplication tables in his head and if he concentrates hard enough he can even hear Mrs. Reed’s drone going over them and totally not at all the stifled gasp from the other side of the room.

Suddenly it’s dawn and apparently somebody likes him after all because he seems to have fallen asleep. Which, _awesome_.

He swings to his feet only to find Castiel is still occupying half of the other bed. Dean has all of his limbs octopussed around the angel’s body, snoring heartily. When Sam comes back out of the bathroom, Castiel is staring at him from within his cocoon of Dean. Sam kind of nods sheepishly, a gesture which Castiel can’t return without knocking his head into Dean’s, so maybe that was a stupid idea. Sam quickly retrieves a pair of jeans and button-down from his duffle and fairly flees from the room.

It’s not until he’s in the drive-thru at McDonald’s that he realizes Castiel probably thinks Sam hates him or something. He’s totally been avoiding any situation that involves Dean and Castiel together lately, so it’s maybe not a huge leap? Which okay, maybe he’s giving off uncomfortable vibes, but he’s allowed to, okay, when he’s walked in on them in various compromising positions. And it’s not like there’s any privacy at all when you’re living out of a car, but still. He’d rather not deal with that. So it’s not like he has anything to apologize for.

But he brings back a third coffee and an extra McGriddle anyway (even if he’s not sure that Castiel actually eats regularly). When he walks back in, Dean is sitting up in bed and Castiel is putting on his coat, but the angel kind of sits back down when Sam hands him his cup of coffee and sandwich, looking mildly perplexed but not at all displeased. Dean gives him this look like if they weren’t all so fucking emotionally constipated, he’d totally hug him for that. Sam feels like he just shot puppies out his ass or something for how pleased everybody seems with this turn of events. If they got out of this apocalypse mess in one piece, he’ll have to remember that McDonald’s builds bridges.

\--

Okay, so that’s how Sam’s life sucks now. Because his brother’s been going steady with his angel boyfriend for long enough that they apparently don’t care anymore that Sam’s around, and have apparently made a game of having quickies or what the hell ever while he’s showering or getting food or whatever, which means he has to take his sweet time or come back to Dean with Castiel’s dick halfway down his throat, which was traumatizing enough the first time, let alone the second and third, so.

Which is how he ends up sitting across from Bobby and drinking holy-water-laced beer while they actively do _not_ talk about the occasional noise drifting up from the basement, except for Bobby tentatively offering “at least they seem happier” once and Sam just polishing off his beer in one go and offering to go get more because he _cannot_ have this conversation.

In truth he’s _really_ happy that Dean found somebody else he can lean on, because Dean likes to act all tough and whatever, but he’s about as steady as a sapling, and the more tethers he gets, the better off he is. But he doesn’t want to talk about it. Oh god, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s really pretty sorry he was so accepting in the beginning, because it’s hard to go “okay, no more PDA in front of your brother” at this point, and he’s got nobody but himself to blame.

Oh, and also yeah, there’s this apocalypse happening, but that seems to just be a catalyst for people to destroy Dean’s fragile ego and then have Castiel put it back together with life-affirming blowjobs or something.

Worst apocalypse ever.


End file.
